


Sunrise waiting

by JovialHarp5159



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Happy Ending, M/M, Super Angst, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, what happens when you feed angst after midnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JovialHarp5159/pseuds/JovialHarp5159
Summary: originally started as a Tumblr prompt, "I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending they're you."





	Sunrise waiting

**Author's Note:**

> this is rated M purely for major character death, and minor depictions of violence I guess?

Prompto is minding his own business, when everything goes to shit. He’s sitting in the apartment that he and T-cott share, in what was once the shitty part of Lestallum, before it all became the shitty part, taking his guns apart and cleaning them, more out of ritual, and habit than any actual need for maintenance. He’s nearly done reassembling the twin pistols, (Evagria and Sentry, yeah, he named his guns, so sue him) and suddenly, there’s a flash of light, so blinding, that it has him blinking back tears. He drops the gun he’s holding, (Sentry, if it matters) and he could swear he watches it fall in slow motion. As it hits the peeling linoleum and skitters out of sight, his breath catches in his chest, and his heart skips a beat, then two. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in ten years, and one he thought he couldn’t feel ever again. He shakes his head, and his pale blue eyes search the room. ‘ok, five things I can see…’ he thinks to himself, working through the decades old grounding method. He’s gotten used to telling himself that any chance of Noctis coming back was gone. It can’t be happening now, after all this time. It has to be a panic attack. Except… it doesn’t feel like panic. It feels like… hope.

There’s a mechanical squawking from the kitchen, the hunters radio, and exhausted muscles drag a tired frame up and over to it, turning the knob to raise the volume. It’s a shitty radio, one he’s tried to fix more times than he cares to count over the last decade, but they just don’t make parts like they used to, so he only hears what appears to be every third word or so.

…light…daemons...angelgard…

Talcotts voice, thin with what sounds like his particular brand of wariness comes over the transmission, and Prompto holds his breath.

…In Hammerhead… check… out…

Prompto scoops his guns up, and is out the door in a few seconds flat. He finishes reassembling them as his boots fly over the rough concrete of the back steps, dropping them at the last minute, and watching them disappear into the blue sparkle of magic that, for the last ten years has felt like acid in a fresh wound, and now, just feels comforting.

***

There’s some sickening platitude about time and wounds, and in the half second when the passenger side door of Talcotts beat up truck is swinging open, Prompto knows it’s bullshit. Because as Noctis steps out of the cab, Prompto feels the clenching in his chest just as severely as when he was a kid, falling on his face in front of the unattainable dream of Noctis Lucis Caelum. He feels it just like it was yesterday, when he was running up to reintroduce himself, silently chanting a mantra of ‘don’t fuck up don’t fuck up don’t fuck up.’ He feels it in the too long glances, and smiles that are an inch too wide, and hugs that are warmer than the sun itself, that end too soon, like every beautiful, wretched summer, somehow more beautiful for its fleetingness. He feels it… exactly like he did ten years ago, running into the room with the crystal, that was supposed to be their salvation, only to be told that his salvation was gone.

His breath catches in his throat, and it takes a conscious effort to force words out of the prison of his throat. “N-Noctis?” Though it’s just a whisper, violet blue eyes look up at him immediately, softening in a way that seems vaguely private. As that gaze settles on him, Prompto reaches out to grab a hold of Ignis, tugging on his arm, all but bouncing up and down, every fiber of his being screaming _holy shit, is this real?_

Noctis smirks in a way that’s all too him, and rips his eyes away from Prompto, to look into the war haggard face of his shield. “Hey.”

Gladio scoffs, shakes his head, affecting the attitude of the carefree, if gruff, behemoth of a man from a dacade ago. “hey- that’s all you have to say for yourself, after all this time?” it’s a joke, but it’s also an accusation. Prompto’s heard that ragged edge to his tone enough times in the eternal darkness, to know that there’re a million questions hidden underneath it. ‘did you get the mark of the draconian?’ ‘can you take the city back?’ but mostly, ‘are you ok?’ and ‘I was scared.’ Prompto heard that tone, every time he took on a daemon too big for him, went into a situation less than prepared, or otherwise went out looking for the abyss that his heart already lived in. The pain hiding under Gladios words still makes his heart clench in guilt. Gladio shoves Noctis playfully, and Prompto wonders if it’s not a way of discharging all the nervous kinetic energy he’s built up while waiting.

Suddenly, Prompto wonders, if this is all a too-cruel joke, if he’s somehow at home, hallucinating off a fever, without potions or elixirs to aid him for fear of hitting the stockpile too hard. He takes a nervous half step forward, and those eyes, those eyes, settle on him again, and he has to know. He reaches out with a trembling hand, and touches Noctis. He’s solid. He’s tangible, and his skin, though covered in what must be an acre of mud, is still as soft as it ever was. Prompto gasps, and pulls his hand away, as though burned. “Noct… it’s you. It’s really you.”

There’s a huff, a quiet expelling of air, and Noctis is smiling. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” The half-smile he slides the group is deprecating, but Prompto knows Noctis better than he knows himself, and he knows that there’s something else there. It sounds, like an honest question. He opens his mouth to ask, but Noctis narrows his eyes, almost imperceptibly, a silent thing, half prayer, half promise. ‘later.’ So he swallows back his concerns, and he waits.

***

Later, comes in six hours, while Promptos sitting on top of Takas pit stop, staring out into the darkness, trying to find a way to put his broken mind back together. He’s almost convinced himself that he’s a person, when there’s a strange whooshing, and the air sizzles with electricity. Suddenly, Noct is there, looking so out of place, in the same fatigues he wore, leaving out of the citadel all those years ago. He doesn’t say anything immediately, just looks out over the horizon, ‘surveying his kingdom’ Prompto thinks. Finally, he sits, heavily, kicking his feet over the lip of the roof. Prompto smiles, nervously.

“Heyaz.”

Noctis furrows his brow, manages to look distraught and stoic all at once. The sight is breathtaking, like he’s a great work of art, carved out of marble. Beautiful. Tragic. When he finally speaks, though his voice is quiet, Prompto nearly jumps out of his skin. “You… can’t go with us.”

Prompto feels himself fall off of the roof, though he doesn’t move an inch. In that instance, his every fear has come true. ‘you’re not enough’ the ever persistent voice in the back of his head, gets louder, and he doesn’t have the strength to stop it. ‘notgoodenoughnotgoodenoughnotgoodenou’ “w…why?”

Nocts looks over, and his placid façade is shattered, he looks panicked for just a second, then he reigns it back in and that look is replaced with one of extreme sadness. He struggles for a few minutes, and when he finally speaks, he doesn’t look at Prompto. “because… there’s a good chance that you’ll die.”

Prompto scoffs, and the voice in the back of his head quiets down just a touch. “oh is that all?”

Noctis glares at him, flaming sapphire depths staring him down, locking him in place. “that’s enough!”

Prompto shakes his head, stands his ground in the same way he’s learned to when fighting endless hordes of daemons. The same rules apply. ‘Don’t Lethem see you bleed.’ “Noct. I’m going with you. It’s my home too. You’re my friend. My king.”

Noctis is standing, and pacing the rooftop in the next instant, fingers running through his overlong, matted hair. “I… I can’t have you die! I can’t have just lost ten year of my fucking life, just to lose my best friend too!”

Prompto stands too, throwing his arms wide, and shouting, not caring who hears. He’s kept it in for fifteen years, it’s long enough. “I can’t lose you again! Noct, I’m nothing without you!”

Noctis interrupts, impatient as always. “You don’t mean—“

“Yes! Yes, I do, Noctis! I…” he trails off, staring down at the ground below. “I need to go with you. Even if it means dying.”

“Why?” all of the malice has dropped out of his tone, and he’s merely beseeching now. He sounds so scared. So young. Prompto laughs, self-deprecating and raw, and tips over the edge, finally letting go of the secret that he’s held on to for as long as he remembers.

“Because I can’t keep kissing strangers, and pretending that they’re you.”

It’s a moment of silence, not exactly awkward, but oppressive. Terrifying in ways that Prompto can’t quantify. Then all of a sudden, Nocts arms are around him, holding him up, like he always has, in ways he can’t even begin to understand. Prompto laughs quietly. It feels like falling into bed after a long day out. Like a shower after running ten miles. Like… like coming home.

***

There’s so little time. No time to talk, no time to apologize for the years of interaction missed, no time to enjoy their new relationship, let alone to discuss where it fits in the grand scheme of things. All too soon, they’re back in Insomnia, and bullets and steel are flying, magic crackles in the air, and daemon ichor clings to the foursome in ways it hasn’t since Gralea. It should be terrifying. It should be gross, and sticky, and the stuff of nightmares, but all Prompto can think, as they head up those steps, is that it’s been a long fucking time coming. He smirks, as he dodges the attack of an Iseultalon, and noctis finishes it with a staggering warp-strike from a light post fifty feet away. He wrenches his sword out of its forehead, and flicks dark blood on the ground, growling a defiant “Go back to Etro where you belong.” His eyes raise up and land on Prompto, and for a second, he feels like he’s frozen. Then he nods his head gently and turns to face the darkened shape of the Citadel looming heavy on the horizon. “Come on guys. Let’s finish this.” It’s there, in the broken rubble of a sidewalk, in front of the ruins of a crappy ramen place, not in the gilded throne room, that Prompto knows that Noctis has ascended. He is truly the king prophecy promised.

***

Prompto is bleeding, from a cut over his eye. His shoulder has been dislocated, and he’s bone tired. But he’s still on his feet, and that’s a fucking miracle. He feels a change, a shift in the air, and it sets his skin on fire, and makes the hairs on the back of his neck raise up. He scans the battlefield that the front steps have become, and he sees carnage, the dead corpses of several daemons, red giants, all the way down to imps. He braces himself for another wave, but it never comes. It’s still pitch black night, but it’s deadly still. He narrows his eyes, and looks for Ignis and Gladio, but doesn’t see either of them. _‘must’ve gone to the throne room.’_ He turns over his shoulder and drags his tired frame up the steps. He drops Evagria, and Sentry, expecting to see them sparkle away in the warm blue light that they always do, but they hit the ground with a thud that rings of finality. Tendrils of dread work their way into his heart, and he’s running up the steps before he knows it.

he skids into the throne room antechamber, prepared to see the worst. He knows the prophecy, he knows it by rote at this point. _“many have sacrificed all for the king, so must the king sacrifice himself for all.”_ That single phrase repeats itself over and over again, like a maddening clock chime, as he walks up the echoing marble path. When he gets to the doors that will lead him to the throne room, he takes a steadying breath. He prepares to see ruin and rubble. He prepares to see the dead body of the only boy he’s ever loved. With a shaking hand, he pushes the ornate door open, and steps into the horrifying unknown.

Noctis sits on the throne, looking exactly as he did when he left them standing guard outside the citadel. Nothing looks different, except his face, which is serene where it was once tired, pinched with worry. He looks so calm, that it takes Promptos breath for just a moment. “Noctis…” he whispers as he takes a step forward. Noctis turns his head, and he looks so serene, so regal, that it hits Prompto like a ton of bricks. This isn’t just his Noctis, this is his _king_. He ducks his head, and goes to kneel, like he’s seen Ignis and Gladio, and Cor do hundreds of times, in a different life time. A flash of movement catches his eye, and he glances up to see Noctis staring at him. He shakes his head, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and when Prompto opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, what he isn’t getting, he just nods to the smaller throne next to him.

Promptos confused, but raises slowly, and starts up the steps. By the third step, the pain in his shoulder is less. By the fourth, the cut over his eye itches rather than stings, and as he stands in front of Noctis, he can walk straight, and no longer wonders when the last time he’d gotten rest was. His jaw quivers, and tears prick his eyes. “what… what is this place?”

Noctis reaches his hand out to clasp Promptos, and it’s warm, it’s comforting in a way that Prompto could never have forgotten. “It’s ours.”

Prompto swallows thickly. “Are we…” he can’t bring himself to say it. He can’t make the word cross his lips. That makes it _real_. So he lets the question hang, and he looks at Noctis with eyes that spill tears down his face. Noctis, only smiles, and pulls him to sit on the throne beside him. Prompto sinks down heavily, and glances to the right, out the hole that was blown in the Citadel during the war. There’s a faint glow on the horizon now, and it’s heartbreaking. It can’t be real. He can’t be _here_ , in _this_ room, with the chosen king.

“Noct… how am I here? I… I’m not… human, I’m not supposed to—“ Noct cuts him off, in the calm way that seems so natural to him in this place. He brushes a stray hair back behind Promptos ear, and smiles warmly at him, his thumb tracing half moon shapes into the gentle curve of his cheekbone. He looks at Prompto for a long time, just looks, like someone trying to memorize something they’re afraid they’ll lose. Then he leans in, slowly, and places a featherlight kiss on the smooth cupids bow of Promptos lips, and smiles.

“Well. I couldn’t have you kissing strangers, and pretending they’re me, could I?” Prompto laughs, an honest to god belly laugh, and it all feels so right, so perfect, that he’s suddenly exhausted. He smiles sleepily back at Noctis, who just opens his arms and let him lean up against him. He leans in and kisses the top of Promptos head, as he starts to drift, and smiles as the sun comes up over his kingdom.

**Author's Note:**

> SSsssssooooo that got dark, right? *throws candy* there, I'm sorry! Join me on Tumblr @TheJovialKynnadyg-ray, sometimes I do things, like this fic req!


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